Honor In Darkness
by Kaelir of Lorien
Summary: Draco's world is changing rapidly. With his father in prison, the Malfoys are in disgrace. Now, Bellatrix reveals a chance for them to reclaim their honor - and for Draco to take his father's place in circle of the Dark Lord.
1. The Only Warning

**The Only Warning**

Draco Malfoy was not asleep. Though it was, he thought, probably nearing midnight, that gave him absolutely no concrete reason why he should be unconscious right then. He didn't want to – he didn't feel like it. He was, however, quite bored. With a small, irritated sigh, he walked over to the sole window in his room.

In a sense, it was because of the window that he was not caught completely off-guard by what happened later that night. The panes were square and solid, and, unlike the diamond-paned windows of the first floor, were easily transparent. It was only an absent glance that Draco directed towards the front garden, but his eyes immediately locked on to rapid movement at the gates beyond the drive – a strange, swirling darkness, and then the gates opening, and a cloaked figure hurrying through them.

Draco looked hard at the newcomer, his eyes narrowed. There were only a handful of people who would even think of approaching the manor at this hour, and in such chaotic times as the wizarding world was experiencing now. So this was one of them… He turned quickly away from the window and went out into the hall, closing the door of his room softly behind him. Finding an excellent vantage point on the landing just above the first flight of stairs coming up from the front room, he leaned against the wall and waited. It was less than a minute before he was rewarded.

If Draco had not known he was right in the first place, the manner in which the front doors were flung open confirmed his suspicions. Subtlety was not an art with which Bellatrix had much patience, especially if she was in as much of a hurry as it seemed right now. From his vantage point at the top of the stairs, Draco saw the doors slam back against the wall on both sides, letting some of the night wash in and revealing the figure that was his aunt.

Yes, it was definitely her. Though she was still hooded, a few strands of dark, shining hair had escaped from underneath her cloak – a darkness mirrored by her heavily-lidded eyes. Bella stood there for a moment, her gaze searching the entrance room with a nerve-wracking deliberation. What was she looking for?

Draco shrank back into the shadows of the landing as he caught her glancing in his direction. Normally, he would have made some sneering remark, but he got the feeling he wasn't supposed to know she was here, and anyway he hadn't quite figured out how to deal with his aunt. She was a powerful witch, to be sure, but somewhat unpredictable, and those two attributes coupled together made spontaneous comments rather hazardous. Azkaban had clearly had a permanent effect on Bellatrix, and until he knew her better, he would keep his distance.

It couldn't hurt to watch, though. Finally, after surveying every square inch (or so she thought) of the room and staircase, she strode a few paces inside. With a tiny flick of her wand, the doors flew back into place, accompanied by a disproportionally loud bang compared with that small gesture. It was another indication of Bella's ideology – full control.

"Cissy!" Though it was not a shout, her tone had an unmistakable air of command. To Draco, however, who had time to consider it at his leisure, it seemed to carry a faint undertone of something else – urgency?

Then he heard the click of his mother's heels. "Bella?" Narcissa asked in confusion as she appeared at the door to the next room. "What are you doing here – I mean, at _this_ hour?"

Bellatrix cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Where is Draco?"

Draco stiffened. This was about _him_? Carefully, so as to avoid alerting them of his watchfulness, his shifted slightly to get a better view.

"Upstairs," answered his mother slowly. "Why –?"

"Come with me – quickly. We don't want to be overheard." Without giving her sister any time to argue, Bellatrix swept into the next room. Hesitantly, Narcissa followed, though not before shooting a worried glance towards the second floor.

Draco waited a few seconds, until he was sure that both women were well inside, before he crept down the stairs. Narcissa had a fair point – what _was_ Bellatrix doing here, almost at midnight, and why would she want to ensure that he was well out of the way before she consented to explain? Draco was determined to know what all the secrecy was about.

He slowed down considerably as he came nearer, trying to pick out individual words from the low voices ahead of him. Very carefully, almost without breathing, he peered around the edge of the doorway.

His mother was standing in the rough center of the room, hands clasped in front of her and he whole form very still. Except for her eyes – they were watching her sister with a stark look of apprehension. In contrast, Bellatrix was pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of the large fireplace. The edge of her cloak was swirling very close to the flames, but she appeared not to notice.

"I don't understand," Narcissa said quietly. She was watching Bella's patterned steps as though hypnotized.

Bellatrix came to a vicious stop and turned, ever so slowly, in her direction. Dark eyes flashed emphatically as she replied, "He is coming."

Even from where he was standing, Draco could see his mother turn white. With a little gasp she sank down onto the nearest chair, trembling visibly. "Here?" she repeated weakly. "Here, Bella?" Again, her gaze locked onto her sister, as though seeking some comfort there. "But why? Is this something – about Lucius?"

"Possibly," Bellatrix answered shortly. Her own features were almost expressionless. "But there is something else, as well." The words were hesitant, and when she fell silent without explaining, Narcissa spoke up again.

"Something else? What –"

"I don't know!" Bellatrix snapped back, in a tone that made her sister flinch as though she had been struck. "I do, however, have my suspicions." Lowering her voice, she continued softly, "I believe it will involve Draco."

Impossibly, his mother's face became even paler. Draco himself felt something inside of him tighten, though more from excitement than fear – or so he told himself. _He_ was coming – it had to be him – no one else could inspire such obvious terror in Narcissa – and Draco himself was the reason, or so it appeared. Draco allowed himself a tiny smirk. His father may have been careless enough to get himself locked up in Azkaban – not that it was entirely Lucius' fault, of course – but Draco could prove himself better than that. He leaned in a little closer.

"No," Narcissa whispered, the word shaking. "No… no – Bella – you can't do this – not Draco – he's barely sixteen –"

Bellatrix shot her a scathing look. "It's not my decision, Cissy, nor is it yours. The Dark Lord's word is law. In any case, it may not be what you think."

"It doesn't matter!" said Narcissa heatedly, beginning to sound hysterical. She stood up suddenly. "I told Lucius – he can do whatever he likes, but Draco is not to become involved under any circumstances. He _swore_ he would keep Draco out of it, Bella! I won't have this family torn apart any more than it is!"

"Whatever the Dark Lord decides, you don't have a choice, Narcissa! Draco is old enough for whatever this may be, without you making his decisions for him."

"He doesn't know – he has no idea –" She let out a little sound that might have been a sob.

But Bellatrix wasn't listening anymore. Staring into the fireplace, she seemed to be meditating on something else that had nothing to do with her sister wringing her hands anxiously. Draco watched his aunt's profile closely, frowning.

"Come in, Draco."

Her words caught him by surprise, and for a moment he did nothing. If she had known that he was there the entire time, why had she not said anything sooner? Why did Bellatrix not seem to mind in the least that he was eavesdropping on the conversation? Warily, he crossed into the room.

Narcissa had looked up. "What – Draco? You shouldn't be –"

"Leave him alone, Cissy," Bella interrupted, though somewhat absently. "I keep telling you – you're too protective."

"Someone has to be!" his mother flared up, her face flushed now. Draco had never seen her like this before; she didn't usually lose control so easily. "You haven't even considered what I go through, and Lucius doesn't give a –" She broke off with a look at her son, breathing quickly, though it had clearly taken a great deal of effort to refrain from continuing. Draco merely raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, but Bellatrix let out a harsh laugh.

"I doubt Lucius is worried about anything right now, except what the Dark Lord might do once Azkaban is taken. Face it, Narcissa – things are changing. Draco's path may be going a different way now." Bella suddenly turned to him. "You heard everything?"

He looked at her without expression. "Obviously."

Bellatrix nodded, almost with approval. "Good – it saves me the time of explaining everything again. Now, if that's all –" She paused, for her sister had made a small sound of protest. "What, Cissy?"

Narcissa was looking at her pleadingly. "When… when is he coming?"

"He awaits my signal," said Bellatrix simply, pushing up her left sleeve to display the mark on her inner forearm.

Draco felt his gaze being drawn automatically to the image of skull and serpent – it fascinated him, in a way. It was a symbol of highest status among the Dark Lord's followers – to bear the Dark Mark was to be chosen as a loyal and worthy member in the inner circle of the most powerful wizard in the world. His father had it, his aunt had it; Draco could not help hoping that one day he, too, could prove himself trusted enough to wear it.

Apparently, his mother felt rather differently; she recoiled, probably involuntarily, at the sight of the Mark.

"I can't change this, Cissy," Bella told her quietly, and for once there was a bit of sympathy in her voice. "There is nothing I can do."

Narcissa looked away, growing pale again, but said nothing. After all, Draco thought, what choice did she have?

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Then Bellatrix asked softly, "Are you prepared, Draco?"

Heart pounding, Draco nodded. "Yes."

With a final look at her sister, Bellatrix stretched out her arm and pressed the forefinger of her other hand to the Mark. As skin met flesh, it burned black.


	2. His Father's Son

**Author's Note: **I have read quite a few stories creating the scenario in which Draco Malfoy officially becomes a Death Eater. But what I _haven't_ seen a lot of is mention of Draco's willingness to do it. Many fanfictions portray him as scared, bitter, forced into his father's place against his will. But in this case I like to remember that Bellatrix later mentioned that she thinks Draco is not shirking from his duty, and seems glad of a chance to prove himself. So that's what I would like to bring across in this chapter - an emphasis that it was his choice, and his choice alone, to join Voldemort's circle.

Thanks for reading, and please leave your comments!

* * *

It was strange, in the very strangest sense of the word, to see the infamous Dark Lord pace slowly into the Malfoys' living room. The entire scene felt absurdly out of place, and yet – of course – no one would dare say so. The room seemed to dim as the tall, skeletally thin figure entered – it _did_ dim, for Draco distinctly saw the flames in the fireplace wilt and recede down into the embers, as though cringing at the presence of one so cold. Draco shivered.

Bellatrix's face bore the barely-concealed expression of anticipation it always had when the Dark Lord was near. Her mouth was slightly open, her hooded eyes flickering in time with the glowing coals. Out of the corner of his vision, Draco noticed her fingers twitching around the handle of her wand, then his gaze moved on to his mother. In the new darkness, her pale features took on a luminous pallor that would have been becoming, if not marred by a look of shocked disbelief. Draco could well imagine her fear, but still felt a surge of contempt that she would give in to weakness now. Bellatrix had always been the stronger sister.

Even though he had a vague sense that it wasn't the smartest thing to do, Draco couldn't help watching the Dark Lord intently. The man – was he even a man, at that? – was so cold, so inhumanly _detached_. His face, even paler than Narcissa's, looked nearly white contrasted with the deep black of his robes. That face, too, was alien in its components – cat-like, scarlet eyes, a nose flattened and slitted like a snake's. It was the mask of death defeated.

"My lord," Bellatrix greeted him breathlessly. Draco suddenly felt her hand pressuring his shoulder heavily, and it took a few seconds for him to realize what she expected of him. It did not come easily; he sank slowly to one knee, bowing his head, and was surprised to find that he was shaking. Bella knelt beside him, but Draco had a hollow feeling that his mother had remained stonily, defiantly upright. Fear permeated the air like a stifling fog.

"Rise." The Dark Lord's voice was like snakeskin brushing across steel, but his tone was almost negligent. Draco waited until Bellatrix had stood before doing the same. Then he looked at Narcissa, who was indeed still standing.

Bellatrix let out a low hiss. "Cissy," she began warningly.

"Be still, Bella," interrupted her master, very softly. He seemed to glide over to where Narcissa stood. She shrank away, but otherwise did not move. "You are… opposed," he whispered. "Would you defy me, Narcissa?" One spider-like hand extended as though about to touch her; she recoiled sharply, and he let out a quiet laugh as his arm withdrew. "Would you put your son in greater danger by trying to shield him?"

Narcissa swallowed but did not speak, likely because it was an impossibility right then. He looked down at her for a moment longer, his head tilted, before turning away.

"Lucius failed. He did not carry out my instructions with the unwavering obedience that I require from those who are truly loyal. He has paid the price." He was speaking to no one in particular now, instead addressing the room at large. It was a manner that depersonalized everything – every_one_ – and left them with the importance of flobberworms. "But that is behind us all now, is it not? We have other things to do."

His tone suddenly sharp, he looked at Bella. "Does the boy understand?"

"He – he does," Bellatrix answered. Draco thought it was strange that she replied without even mentioning that none of them really knew what the Dark Lord wanted of them in the first place.

This aspect was immediately addressed. "You mean he knows what little I told you," the other interrupted smoothly, his gaze calculating. "Your blind faith is amusing, Bella, but it becomes somewhat tedious. Draco understands far less, I think, than you and your sister do – and it seems to be making him rather… apprehensive."

Bellatrix flushed at the sting of the rebuke, as Draco tried to push away those fluttering of anxiety that the Dark Lord had picked up on. Was he being that obvious?

"Explain, then."

The very air went silent; Draco was sure he had stopped breathing as all eyes turned on Narcissa.

She pressed on regardless. "Explain what you want with my son."

Expressionless, the Dark Lord turned in her direction. His eyes were gleaming mysteriously in the dim light, and a half-smile twisted his mouth.

"Oh, I will, Narcissa," he assured her softly. "You will know exactly what I require of Draco. Unless," he added significantly, "you would prefer that he did not comply? It is always a choice, of course – but I must add that very few make that it."

Her eyes widened, and she breathed a nearly silent word of protest. He laughed quietly.

"I am disappointed in you, Narcissa – unwilling to allow your son to assist in bringing about a new age in magical purity… Bella would have agreed."

Bellatrix nodded eagerly, as is anxious to show her devotion.

"Of course," continued the Dark Lord, now with a mocking undertone, "Bella would agree to anything at all. She has a tendency towards – shall we say – unawareness of certain consequences… don't you, Bella? You like to make a mess and not clean it up."

Again, her cheeks flushed darkly and her eyes narrowed in a flicker of anger. Draco found himself wondering if this was how all the Death Eaters were treated.

"Now." Attention turned once again to the Dark Lord. "Entertaining as Bella's exploits are, we are not here to discuss them. There is a service I require of Draco," he went on. "It is a rather special task – and one that is difficult, but will be highly rewarded in the end, should he complete it to my satisfaction. You know that I always reward those who serve me loyally." The high, cold voice paused momentarily, the feline eyes watching the sisters, and then continued. "Since Draco will be returning to school at the end of the summer, he is in the rare position to carry out what I will ask of him. Indeed, he is the only one who can accomplish this."

Draco felt a renewed surge of excitement at these last words. His mother was biting her lower lip so hard that droplets of blood were appearing, but he didn't care. _He_ was being chosen for some special task – out of all the Death Eaters, _he_ would get to prove himself. This was beyond anything he could have expected.

"However," added the Dark Lord, "I could hardly have a mere underage wizard perform this service. At the very least, it would be… improper."

What did _that_ mean? Was Draco to be replaced, after all?

When he next spoke, the Dark Lord's words were delicately stressed. "I think… that it is time for Draco to take his proper place as his father's son."

Stunned, Draco could only stare. _His father's son_ –

"_No!_"

Narcissa's shriek stabbed viciously through the previous silence. Her face picture of anguish, she flung herself forward in front of the Dark Lord.

"Please, my lord – not Draco – not my son –" Bella tried to pull her back, but she was shaken off savagely. "He's so young – he doesn't understand –"

And Draco was shocked to see tears streaming from her pale eyes. His mother was actually _crying_ – Narcissa, a Black and a Malfoy. It sent a little shock through his system, but then his expression hardened. _Pleading won't help – even I know that. She's just making everything worse. _This was his chance to do something, and she was trying to take it away from him. For Draco, backing down was not an option, and he deliberately shut out any thoughts that attempted to tell him otherwise.

Bellatrix's emotions were playing violently across her face. "Cissy!" she hissed again, with an anxious glance at her master. "Narcissa – be still!"

The Dark Lord did not seem particularly perturbed. He did not speak, but a negligent flick of his wand struck Narcissa suddenly to the ground. Draco flinched, and had already taken a step forward before he caught Bella's eye and realized what he was doing. Breathing quickly, he resumed his previous position and watched his mother. She was still weeping, but quietly, and her face was averted.

"I trust that you will not need another reminder, Narcissa," said the Dark Lord softly, looking down at her shaking figure. Then, turning away as if nothing had happened, he addressed Draco and Bella once again.

"We have something that must be done, then," he began, "that is, if Draco wishes to enter my service?"And the gleaming eyes flickered over Draco's face.

Pulse accelerating rapidly as he considered the possibility, Draco looked over at Bellatrix. No doubt his expression was mimicking the astonishment – the excitement – that the rest of him was feeling. To serve the most powerful wizard in the world – he had never expected – and his mother was trying to say _no?_ It was tactless as well as dangerous. Bella was watching him, head lifted, gaze hard and expectant. _She_, at least, was confident that he would make the right choice.

Draco stared at the floor for a moment, his body very still. Then he suddenly raised his head. "Yes – my lord."

A ragged gasp left Narcissa's lips. "No… Draco, please," she whispered, her long blond hair half-obscuring her face. But this time, Draco spared her only a brief, neutral glance. For whatever reason, he found that he did not want to look at her.

"Very good," the Dark Lord said, his mouth curving into something akin to a smile as Bellatrix looked on approvingly. "And now…"

Moments later, Draco was kneeling before the robed figure; his head was bowed, and his heart was hammering a rapid pattern inside his chest. Bellatrix stood beside him. The sleeve of her robe was turned back to reveal the deep red Mark on her inner forearm. Draco breathed slowly, deeply – and waited.

Fluidly, the Dark Lord drew his wand. Draco caught a twitch of movement out of the corner of his eyes and just barely saw that his mother was standing again not far away. She seemed to have made an involuntary movement towards them, then realized it was too late. Her face was white, her expression pleading, but no sound escaped her lips now. Draco thought he saw some of the old Black pride coming back.

"You arm, Draco," ordered the Dark Lord sibilantly, and Draco, knowing what was expected of him, slowly drew up his sleeve and stretched out his left hand, palm upward. He was shaking, though not, he assured himself, with fear. This was what he wanted, after all.

Utter silence fell; it was as though everyone had been turned to stone. Even the fire seemed to have quieted, its already low light dimming to almost nothing. For a moment, Draco felt as though he were in a dream.

Then the Dark Lord's wand descended. Automatically, Draco's eyes followed it downward, his heartbeat quickening by the second, and then there was a flash of red light, and he felt the wand tip touch his skin.

Pain seared like blazing fire through his arm, with the deadly accuracy of a long-fanged snakebite. It seemed to be coming from inside, from within the bone itself, but the sign appeared on the surface. He fell back slightly, letting out a sharp cry, and stared down at his forearm. A skull was appearing there, its contours materializing as though they were lines of blood flowing in a predetermined pattern. The sightless face opened its mouth in an unheard scream, and more lines faded into view – the sinuous curves of a serpent, which slowly writhed around the skull until its head was rearing above the rest. The image continued to move for a few seconds, and then the lines receded to a dark crimson and became still.

As Draco continued to stare at his arm, gasping and in shock, he heard his master say above him, "Go ahead, Bella."

He looked up in time to see his aunt smile triumphantly and swiftly press her forefinger to the skull on her own arm. It burned black – and as it did so, Draco felt _his_ Dark Mark flare painfully and saw it blacken like hers. Very slowly, he raised his head, made eye contact for the briefest moment with the Dark Lord, and was abruptly aware of the realization that he was one of them now. A Death Eater.

Stowing his wand, The Dark Lord regarded him appraisingly. "This, Draco, is your task…"


	3. The Importance of Family

**Author's Note:** Been a while since I updated this, eh? Ah, well, the premiere of The Deathly Hallows revived my love of Harry Potter to a suitable level for trying to get this story finished up. Enjoy, and as always, please leave your thoughts in the form of a review!

* * *

Draco left his room only a few times the next day, partly by choice and partly because he didn't want to see what his mother's expression would be like if she happened to look at him—and she would, if he showed himself. The look on her face the previous night had been bad enough. Narcissa's helpless distress had shamed him almost to the point of calling her out on it, had it been the proper time and place. It hadn't, so he had remained silent, but still. Since this latest change, she seemed to be laboring under the delusion that his life had become some sort of sob story, and her subsequent overprotectiveness sickened him. Why couldn't she stop treating him like a child? He was a Death Eater now, as well as her son.

And, Draco thought viciously, Death Eaters didn't need mummy watching over their shoulders every step of the way.

Avoiding his mother, however, wasn't Draco's only motive behind his voluntary semi-confinement. So much had happened in such a short span of time that now he was beginning to feel quite overwhelmed by it all. Not apprehensive, of course, and certainly not regretful of his decision… Draco shook himself. He just needed time to think. He always needed to sort things out in his head until he had them organized and adjusted, until it all made sense and it was easier to draw a connection from here to there. Nothing, not even initiation as a Death Eater, seemed so complicated that way.

Narcissa called it oversimplification. _He_ called it logic.

Still, he could hardly believe that this was really happening. As far as he knew, it was unheard of for a boy of only sixteen to be selected as an acolyte of the Dark Lord. His mother, with her desperate (and completely useless) protests, was looking at it entirely the wrong way. This was the perfect opportunity to prove himself up to the task, as well as to compensate in some measure for his father's failed escapade at the Ministry.

It was that last fact, Draco figured, that had Narcissa so overcome with anxiety. She did not see this as a path towards redemption; rather, she seemed to think it was punishment because of Lucius. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't—Draco was unsure if the Dark Lord expected him to succeed (certainly the others didn't)—but he would show them all that he could do it. That he was better.

Sighing, Draco brushed his hair back from his forehead. As he lowered his hand, his eyes were drawn once again to the symbol he had watched—yes, even admired—on his aunt's arm the previous night. The Mark was dark red at the moment, burned into his skin so completely that no magic would ever be able to erase it. Against his will, Draco felt a twinge of unease as he considered the image's permanence. It would never come off now, not even if he wanted it to… Frowning, he traced one finger around the skull's outline—and then him himself mentally for being so childish and paranoid. He had been chosen—he was _pleased_ about it—so why would he ever feel the need to rid himself of the Dark Lord's trust?

Too late to think about that now, he thought firmly, leaning back on his bed, and told himself to drop the subject. Absently, he drew a thin flaming line in the air with his wand, watching as it slowly faded into a wisp of smoke.

"You're not supposed to be doing that, Draco."

He didn't even bother to look up at her. "So who cares, Mother?" he asked, annoyed. "It's a stupid rule, anyway, and those stalkers at the Ministry don't know the difference."

Though Narcissa refrained from commenting, Draco glanced up in time to see her lips compress into a thin, hard line. Irritated, he drew another bright swirl in the air above his head. Maybe if he ignored her for long enough, she would go away—maybe she would stop acting like every little thing he did was ten times more dangerous now that the Mark was burned into his skin. She had never cared before if he did magic outside of school; both she and Lucius agreed that it was foolish to restrict the progress of a young wizard from a respectable family simply because the Hogwarts teachers were not there to keep an eye on him. As long as he practiced within the boundaries of the manor, Ministry officials wouldn't know the difference; discipline was the parents' responsibility. Draco didn't see why any of that should change now.

His mother stood on the threshold of the room, as though debating whether or not to commit herself to walking in. Draco's vote was against it. _Just go away_, he though quickly, determinedly not looking over for fear that she would take it as an invitation to enter. _Don't come in… just leave…_

But in complete defiance of his silent command, Narcissa moved forward, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. Sourly, Draco looked up at her. "I thought you were leaving, Mother."

He was surprised when, instead of rebuking him for his rudeness, she merely continued to stare, with a very queer expression in her eyes as though she didn't quite recognize him anymore. Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Draco sat up. Moments later, he wished he hadn't; quietly, Narcissa sat down where his head had been, shifting the pillow away.

"Draco," she began softly, "we need to talk."

Inwardly, he allowed himself an aggravated groan. She was _serious_ about this—her low, determined tone told him that much—and by the looks of things he wasn't going to be able to get out of it.

"That depends," he said, impatience making him reckless. "Are we actually going to talk, or are you going to start crying into my pillow?"

The reaction was more than he had expected—Narcissa looked as though he had just slapped her in the face. Still paler than usual, she turned to him with an expression of mingled shock and reproach. Then, very quietly, in a voice that trembled with restrained emotion—"That was uncalled for."

Half ashamed, Draco jerked his gaze away. "All right, all right," he muttered apologetically. He hadn't _meant_ it like that. "I didn't mean—I just don't want you acting like you did last night. Honestly, Mother, it was… well, pathetic. Really."

"I… I know." Her features were strained. "But, oh, Draco, you don't understand—you're too young…" He felt her thin hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.

"Too young for what—for this?" Lightly, he pulled back his sleeve to reveal the emblem of skull and snake. "Because apparently you're the only one who things so. Aunt Bella doesn't seem to have a problem with it."

She hesitated. "Bellatrix… Bella believes that anything _he_ decides is right. She would never consider otherwise. But there are some things…" She caught herself as Draco looked up sharply.

"And you warn _me_ about being careful," he remarked in a low voice. The situation was making Narcissa desperate—she was on the verge of open defiance of the Dark Lord, and though technically not a Death Eater, anyone could see that she was subject to his authority. Absently, Draco shrugged her hand off.

"You do have to be careful—don't you realize what's going to happen if you aren't?"

It was her tone more than the words themselves that caught his attention again. "What are you saying?"

"He'll kill you, Draco. He'll kill all of us."

Something in his mind went icy and unfeeling. He shivered involuntarily, as if a claw were running down his back. It couldn't be true—his mother was overestimating the danger in her worry. _He'll kill me._ Draco tried to face the words, to make them frightening, but somehow he couldn't. They were as unreal to him as the Azkaban cell where his father now resided.

His silence must have scared Narcissa. With a small sigh, she reached out and put her hand against his cheek, turning his face towards her. Her fingers were very cold, and as Draco met her gaze, he was tears flickering in her eyes.

"I didn't want this," she whispered. "I didn't expect it—at least not so soon… But you must understand the realities. This isn't a game, and it isn't school. Life and death are much closer now—and much harder to control."

"I think I figured that much out, Mother," he responded, rather harshly.

"But you don't know what it means! You're young, Draco—you think you can do anything and nothing will happen—but with this… we can't protect you… It's bad enough with your father, but he wasn't supposed to let you become involved—"

"Yeah, but Father's in prison right now," Draco broke in abruptly and with unusual heat. "You didn't expect that to happen, either." Whether or not he meant it, his tone was accusatory. "So it looks like my being involved isn't up to him anymore."

"I'm well aware of that, Draco," she said stiffly.

"Are you? I'm not convinced." After a small pause, he added under his breath, "Aunt Bella is right—stop running my life for me. I can do it myself."

Nevertheless, he could tell that she had heard him, and was frustrated by his seeming indifference. _You should know better_, he thought, waiting for a response. He was anything but apathetic. He may not be able to identify his precise feelings, but they were definitely strong ones, and not all of them pleasant. Those were the ones he was attempting, with only some success, to ignore.

In a low voice, Narcissa said, "Please don't talk like that, Draco," and without explanation he felt her arms encircle him from behind, wrapping around his shoulders and drawing him close. Astonishment held him in place for several seconds—his mother had not demonstrated this kind of affection in a long time, not since he had told her quite curtly that he didn't care for hugs—but instinct against the embrace soon took over. Stiffening, he was about to pull away when another word from her cut through his thoughts like a knife.

"Draco, I—I'm scared."

_That_ certainly managed to stop him short.

"You're _what_, Mother?" he asked incredulously.

Her arms tightened. "I'm afraid of what will happen to our family—to you. This is a—a hopeless task you've been given—there is no way—and Bellla won't even try to change his mind—" With a choked sob, she fell silent.

Sighing, Draco slowly relaxed and leaned his head back against her shoulder. He could feel her trembling slightly. After hesitating for a moment, he put his hands delicately on top of hers, keenly aware of the abnormality of the situation—but then, she needed the comfort more than he did. It felt so strange to be sitting there, Narcissa's arms around him, her cheek resting against his hair. This was absurd—for this one brief moment, he felt closer to his mother than he ever had before, like they were actually family—

"Am I interrupting something, Cissy?"

Family be damned.


End file.
